


Karmic Retribution

by daniko



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Implied Relationships, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Spoilers for Season 5 of SPN, and Season 2 of Teen Wolf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 16:48:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1046209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daniko/pseuds/daniko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean moved to a small town called Beacon Hills, changed his name to Stilinski and found a job in law-enforcement with his fake credentials and his fake degree in Criminology; bought a house downtown; tried to raise a kid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Karmic Retribution

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time, there was [this post](http://daniskatra.tumblr.com/post/55642701310/i-want-a-fic-where), then [this one](http://daniskatra.tumblr.com/post/55642636332/youcantseemyinsidefeels-theshimmydean) and finally [the catalist](http://daniskatra.tumblr.com/post/57609695903/saucefactory-umbralillium-neierathima); and suddenly the following happened. I'm still waiting for the 100k fic, so if someone could get on that, I'd appreciate it. ;) Meanwhile, enjoy! ♥ Unbeta'd.

Back in the day, when his brother got stuck in the Pit, the man then called Dean Winchester had nowhere else to turn, no one who wouldn't remind of Sam, so he went to Lisa.

Bless her soul, but Lisa never asked about the things Dean so obviously kept from her; then again, it wasn't like Dean didn't know she was keeping things from him as well. There was a mutual, silent agreement between Dean and Lisa not to poke at things best left alone; and the fact that she understood why the silence mattered was one of the reasons Dean loved Lisa. Her silence was born of understanding, because Lisa saw more than most; she might not know the details, but she knew Dean. And she never once called him out on his duty. Lisa knew Sam would always come first and, well, he did. Dean didn't know how to be any other way.

Besides, Ben was probably way better without a father like Dean.

Sometimes it was just pathetic how deep in denial they all pretended to be, pretended not to see exacly how Ben was such a blatant copy of Dean in some ways—in other ways he was all Lisa: lithe, flirty, bitchy and kind to a fault. Nerdy, spastic, sporting ADD, that was all on Dean. There was a bit of Sam in there, too; and Mary and John. It was good.

Sam returned one day, both whole and a bit broken, but still the brother Dean remembered.

It was not quite coincidentally the first time Lisa broke the _status quo_. “You can't just come and go as you please, Dean,” she said firmly and didn't shout. She didn't need to. “I know we don't talk about it and it really doesn't matter, but once you start acting like his dad you can't just stop halfway through. If you go, you'll be doing so permanently.”

Ben was already in bed, but Sam (sitting at the table with a late night dinner, looking half-starved despite having had three meals a day for the past twenty) froze. Then he laughed, for the first time in three weeks. “Dude. I knew the kid was yours.”

After that, Sam stayed in the guest bedroom, Ben got a shiny new Uncle to show off at school and Lisa slowly relaxed, secure in the fact that Dean was back to stay. And Dean really was. As if he could have left; being around Lisa and Ben soothed some old pain around Dean's solar plexus. It gave him some peace, even if he sometimes went nights without sleep, fighting the pull of the Road and old _Jack Daniel's_ , sitting in front of the door, holding an old Winchester in his lap. Sometimes, Sam even joined in.

Sam and Dean still went on a few hunts. They hadn't seen Castiel since the old days and Dean thought of him sometimes, with growing fondness and decreasing tension—that alertness and panic that seemed ever-present back then. Once in a while, Dean thought it would be nice to get the old gang together to have some fun. Bobby was the only one who stopped by sometimes. He was Ben's favourite.

Of course, the Universe just wouldn't give Dean a damn break.

One day, he and Sam returned from a hunt to find the house turned upside down and Lisa and Ben missing. Lisa didn't make it. For the first time, Dean peeked into the abyss of anger his dad had lived with: it was a genie and Dean didn't stop until the entire lair was burned down to cinders.

Ben was eleven when Dean finally decided it was enough. Sam didn't even blink, just helped Dean forge an identity, pack his bags, and move on. Sam didn't come along, turned to Bobby to continue the family business; had something to prove to himself. As for Dean, he moved to a small town called Beacon Hills in the middle of California, changed his name to Stilinski and found a job in law-enforcement with his fake credentials and his fake degree in Criminology; bought a house downtown; tried to raise a kid.

*

A few months after they arrived in Beacon Hills in the dead of the night, Ben asked Dean if it was okay to call himself Stiles. To this day, Dean still didn't know what the hell a Stiles even _was_ , but okay. Whatever helped Ben.

(They didn't talk about Lisa, Dean didn't know how, Stiles never pushed.)

Sometime in the seventh grade, Stiles came home a random kid on Dean's day off and introduced him as, “Dad, this is my buddy Scott! He's nurse Melissa's son.” Nurse Melissa was one strong woman and a realiable contact for Deputy Stilinski at the Hospital, even though she had terrible taste in men. Scott was nothing like her. He was small and asthmatic, and Dean honestly worried a stronger breeze would knock him over. He didn't quite know what to do with either Scott or Stiles. He ended up letting them play videogames all afternoon.

Luckily, Stiles was more responsible than Dean, because he said in mid-afternoon, “Come on, dude. Homework.” Scott grumbled adorably. “Trust me, Scotty. We want your mum to let you come over tomorrow.” He put his arms around Scott's shoulders and shook him a little, with a grin. “And more important, we want your mum not to yell at my dad for spoiling us, so he can do it again!” The kids were too precious.

*

Occasionally, Dean wondered how civilians could be so blind—and when he thought “civilians” he really meant people who didn't know about the things that go bump in the night, because even his deputies were gleefully splashing in denial. Animal attacks. As in, actual _animal attacks_ , that's what they were saying. Idiots.

Dean, of course, called Sammy right away, but he was out on a hunt and couldn't come anytime soon. Meanwhile, Dean tried to keep the people happy and safe. He tried to look like he had anything to go on the murders - one that wouldn't get him a one way trip to the loony bin, that is; tried to find some clue on Laura Hale's case, his gut telling him to find a connection between the Hales and all the dead people, but the only suspect was the one person Dean didn't actually believe had done it and it had just taken one look.

Dean had never actually met the Hales, but just one look at Derek Hale showed him a man (a kid) under the weight of grief, duty and revenge. It was something Dean was somewhat familiar with.

Add insult to injury, the Argents.

Dean often wondered if they knew how conspicuous they were to someone who knew the craft.

All things said, Dean found himself with hunters on one side, anonymous werewolves on the other, a brother who wouldn't answer his phone (who knew if he was lying in a ditch somewhere) and worse—much, much worse: a kid with the hots for an older, possible serial-killing dude! Damn it, but Stiles had to have Lisa's type, didn't he? That, and Scott was mooning over Allison Argent (and she was way over Scotty's little league, if Dean might say so himself), which would possibly invite Argents into their lives and Dean had retired for a reason, for God's sake, and that was not getting himself and his involved in the family business ever again!

With a sigh, Dean finished his mid-afternoon whisky and sent a prayer above.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Dean shouted, jumping out of his chair. Clearly, he had forgotten about the side-effect of praying. Castiel simply stared. “Cas—er, how's it going?”

“You called.”

Dean stared. “Jesus, okay. I—didn't?” Uh. Good to know Cas hadn't lost the ability to convey how exasperating he thought Dean was without a single word. “What the hell, man! I haven't seen you in years, since you grabbed Sam from the Pit. You just thought to pop in now?”

“I had no reason to visit. You seemed all right. I know this, because I have been watching you.”

Dean coughed. “All right, Creepy McCreeperson. So. I suppose you will be leaving now?”

“No.”

In that moment, the front door slammed closed. “Dad!” shouted Stiles. Dean truly had expected nothing else from his life. “Dad Dad Daddy Dad, I'm hoooooome!” Dean sighed. He could hear Stiles skipping through the hallway, only to come to a sudden stop at the doorway, glancing from Dean to Cas. “Oh, hi. I'm Stiles.”

“I thought you were Benjamin,” said Cas. His hands closed briefly at his sides.

“That, too,” said Stiles with a grin. Dean had to smile. “I was just gonna make dinner,” Stiles said, more to Dean's benefit, nodding inquiringly towards Cas behind his back.

“Er, this is Castiel, by the way. An old friend.” Talk about loaded sentences, if Stiles' expression was anything to go by. “He's going to stay in out guest bedroom for a while, I guess. If it's okay with you.”

“Sure it is!” said Stiles, which was a blatant lie. Dean and his kid might be drifting apart, but Dean could still tell when his kid was lying through his teeth and, because Dean's instinct was never wrong, dinner was . . . _awkward_.

Stiles was at his most annoying, he really was trying his best and, if Dean weren't the subject of it, he would be damn proud. Stiles stared unblinkingly at Cas during the entire time they sat at the table, occasionally bursting the incredibly personal question Dean wouldn't let Cas answer each time. There was no valid reason Stiles needed to know about Cas' family, his last lover, if he was in the military, seeing as he hadn't visited Dean for the past seven years, if he had any relevant medical conditions. “Relevant to _what_ , Stiles?” Dean demanded, before telling them both to shut their gobs (even though Cas hadn't yet got the change to get a word in edgewise) and finish dinner. Finally, after an excrutiating long meal, Stiles pushed away from the table with the excuse of homework and glared at Cas all the way to the stairs.

“Sam is hunting vampires. That is why he hasn't come yet.”

“Whoa, dude—kid in the house! And yes, I figured.”

“Also Benjamin has just left the house through his bedroom window.”

Dean sighed. “He probably has a girlfriend or a boyfriend and doesn't want me to know about it.” Unfortunately, he didn't think going after Stiles to demand an explanation would help anyone at this point, after all the broken rules and half-truths Stiles had been spewing out recently; and Dean was trying very hard not to come up with reasons for Stiles to lie without listening to the kid first, but they all started with Derek Hale and ended with statutory rape.

Plus, Scott was in on it for sure. Dean might as well start with the weakest (less stubborn) link.

“Perhaps it is that young man that often spends time near Benjamin highschool.”

Dean went very still and said through gritted teeth, “What young man?”

“I do not know his name, Dean,” Cas drawled. “Though I could ask?”

“Nevermind, I probably know exactly who you mean.”

The following morning, Cas tried to make breakfast for the three of them, allegedly to thank Stiles and Dean for their hospitality, but Dean had seen the covetous gleam in Cas' eyes when he first saw the waffle machine. In the end, Dean couldn't help but laugh at the mess, which resulted in a major sulk from Stiles' end, but it was one hell of a start for a day Dean was already seeing stretching in front of him.

Later, Stiles even came by the precint, bearing burgers and fries, as he usually did when he broke Dean's admittedly sparse rules. Truly, his kid was such a piss-poor liar. “You know,” Stiles said while they ate, “you could've told me about Cas.” Dean froze with a couple of fries halfway to his mouth. “I wouldn't have minded. Mum died a while ago.”

Dean choked on his bite. “What—Stiles! No!”

“So, you two aren't—.”

“No,” Dean said, but judging by the look Stiles spared him, he wasn't very convincent.

So Cas stayed, and Stiles still lied through his teeth both to Dean and Cas, but the three of them found their balance quickly enough. Stiles and Cas seemed to bond through glares and passive-aggressivity, which made Dean feel all warm and fuzzy inside (if by “warm and fuzzy” one meant “slowly going mad”), but for Dean it felt like the Universe was finally going right. People talked, of course, people did little else, but otherwise left them alone; some even congratulated Dean and wished him happiness. Melissa seemed perpetually a breath away from pinching their cheeks.

By the end of the school year, Stiles' broad hints helped Dean pin the Hale Fire on Kate Argent (which earned him points with the community and made Dean want to punch the Argents and their code in the face), ruled Kate's murder as an “animal attack”, but in truth figured she and Peter Hale had finally put an end to the families' feud by mutual murder, which was just fine for the world at large, if you asked Dean.

*

Life went on as usual after that. Stiles seemed to have grown out of his crush with the infamous Derek Hale, he and Cas were getting along a lot better, having found a shared appreciation for Game of Thrones. Sam called a couple of times, but things were still dire enough that he couldn't get away. Personally, Dean thought there was a skirt involved in some way and he hoped Sam hadn't found himself a female version of Edward, because Dean was Team Jacob all the way. Bobby stopped by during Christmas. It was good.

Only then kids started getting bitten in the beginning of the new term and then people started getting attacked by “animals” again, so Dean decided it was time to sit Stiles down and tell him some truths. Not that Dean wanted his kid anywhere near the family business, but there ignorance and there was _ignorance_ and Winchesters took care of themselves. Besides, Stiles was getting older and he should probably keep an eye out for wolves in the woods; but Dean was leery of upsetting the hard-won balance of their little household, so he kept putting it off. He shouldn't have.

Stiles' face after the last lacrosse match of the season made Dean drive over the speed limit to his old storehouse and get his damned arsenal back. Cas looked a step away from calling an army from Heaven and raze Beacon Hills to the ground, but luckily Sam arrived in time to take his costumary role as the voice of reason.

“You remember Uncle Sam, right?” Stiles didn't look away from his laptop screen; he shrugged, jittery and all over the place. Dean could detect some PTSD in there and it made him want to squeeze someone's throat until it snapped. “Look, son, I know you want to be alone, but we need to tell you something and we need you to hold off calling the men in white coats for a while, okay?” Stiles looked up warily. “Okay, so.” No time like the present. “Werewolves are real.”

Stiles seemed to choke on air; he closed his laptop with jerky movements and pulled his knees up, seemed a breath away from one of his old panic attacks. Dean quickly went to his side and rubbed his back, just as Sam added helpfully, “Well, not only werewolves, but many other supernatural creatures.”

Dean glared. “Dude. Timing.” Besides, Stiles could probably use some time before they started explaining exactly what species Castiel belonged to.

That was when Stiles started laughing hysterically.

After everything was said and done, Dean was beyond furious.

“Werewolves, Benjamin Isaac! Were- _wolves_! What the actual fuck, son?”

Stiles looked a little surprised at Dean's swearing, but hell! What could Dean have possibly done in his life to deserve—oh. Right. Whatever.

“Dean, this is new lore,” Sam interrupted. “We had no idea lycanthropy was hereditary . . . and the pack bonds, we need—.”

Ah, which reminded Dean, “Derek Hale, son! A goddamned Alpha, what were you thinking? I raised you better than that—hell, your mum raised you better than that even before I came along! You can't have forgotten the changeling—.”

“Dean.” The word was quiet, but firm, and frankly not one bit surprising. Stiles looked stunned, which probably meant Dean shouldn't have said that. “What Benjamin needs is sleep and what you and Sam need is to focus on the real problem, which is Benjamin's safety.”

Stiles looked so relieved, Dean was suddenly really grateful for Cas' presence.

Still—werewolves! “Yeah, sure, whatever,” he sighed. To Stiles, he said, “We will be talking about a brand new curfew and set of rules. Meanwhile, consider yourself freshly destitute of your car keys.”

“Dad, no!”

“Not a peep, kid,” Dean growled. “I can't even believe you. There is no way I'll let you into this life, so don't even argue. We will talk tomorrow.” He pressed a kiss to Stiles' forehead and left without a look back, Sam following behind. He was painfully aware that Cas had not followed.

When Cas finally came down, Dean and Sam sat at the kitchen table to plan the raid on the werewolves' nest. Dean thought that perhaps they could arrange some sort of alliance with the Argents and was just explaining this, before Cas could start his exposition in all the ways he was taking Stiles' side, when he heard the familiar purr of his baby's engine.

The Impala, which hadn't left the garage in years.

Dean growled. Stiles was dead. _Dead_. Hopefully, metaphorically speaking.

Dean, Sam and Cas had got to the warehouse just in time to Dean's kid drive his baby into the slimy creature to save his werewolf boyfriend and best-friend. A kanima, that's what Stiles called it afterwards, and that little bastard Jackson was it. It explained a lot about Stiles' past behaviour, in fact. It also made Dean's soul weep in despair that apparently Lisa's reasonable genes weren't enough to dispell the Winchesters' call for the outlawed (though to be fair, “reasonable” wouldn't have given Dean time of the day back then). Scotty, though—the kid seemed to have grown into himself. Not only that, but their little army of teenagers seemed to have found something for themselves. That was good, considering the kid of luggage some of them brought along, of which Dean knew about because he was a good cop and because he could tell the signs. Maybe—maybe they deserved to have half a chance. (Dean _was_ Team Jacob, after all.)

Mama Argent and Grandpa Gerard, however, wouldn't be winning prizes for sanity. Or any good will from Dean, the hunting fellowship be damned. Dean didn't take it particularly well that someone thought to beat his kid as a message to Hale. The Argents could be the bigwigs of the werewolf-hunting business, but Dean? Dean was still the dude every hunter had to measure up to. Grandpa Argent was dead before he even tried to get fresh with the kids. Dean used to kill monsters and he never much cared what species they belonged to.

“Get out of here, Stiles, get them out of here,” growled Hale pitifully, the only smart thing he had said so far, but seeing as he made no move to let go Stiles' hands, Dean was giving him only half a credit.

“Hush, you asshole,” snapped Stiles, holding his plaid-shirt to Hale's wound and making no move to get away. “Deaton is on his way—stop moving! Do you wanna die of wolfsbane poisoning?”

*

It was thus how Dean, Sam and Cas became honorary members of the tempestuous Hale Pack. Sam took residence in the Stilinskis' guest bedroom. Bobby came by more often, not the least of it because he met Isaac and convinced himself the kid needed a proper father-figure—business as usual for Bobby. Cas still hogged the blankets twice a week, the first three nights and the last four. Stiles went to college, came back with a real degree in Psychology, started writing fantasy books under the name Winchester. (Oh, and he married Hale.) By the end of his life, Dean had something of a love-hate relationship with his son-in-law and his family was more than half-made of the creatures he used to hunt, among angels, banshees, kanimas, witches; the Spark, is what they called Stiles and Dean was always torn between beaming in pride and laughing histerically— 

"Here, boy! C'mere, Sparkle!" 

"Oh my god, _Dad_! Stop it, okay?" 

—and goddamned werewolves. Finally, Dean could see some order in the chaos that used to be a Winchester's life.

**Author's Note:**

> ~~thIS IS NOT WHAT I SHOULD HAVE WORKED ON TODAY~~


End file.
